This Is War
by shadowblade-tara
Summary: The warning signs were clear. Now war is coming. It will begin with the prophet, and end with the messiah.
1. The People

Transformers © Hasbro.

Not a songfic, but based off the song This Is War by 30 Seconds To Mars.

**The People**

This is Cybertron.

This is a planet made of metal, populated by robotic organisms with a history longer than the existence of most planets. It's a rarity, much like humans imagine the planet Earth to be. Circumstances must be exact for a planet made completely of metals to evolve, even more precise for the evolution of energon. There have been many theories as to how the robotic organisms got there, but none of those are important. They are here, on Cybertron now, and have been for millions of years.

After millions of years, societies collapse.

This is a society based on a caste system. Most humans would recognize this as a failure waiting to happen, seeing as they've tried it before, but the system was developed long before the first primates ever started walking upright on Earth – and it crashed about the same time those primates learned to make fire.

This is the story of that crash.

There is only one way a revolution can take place. By definition, revolutions are bloody, because they involve change, and not everyone wants change. Those who profit from the status quo will fight to maintain it, and because these individuals are in the positions of power, they can fight hard.

The people who get screwed, however, tend to fight harder, dirtier, and longer.

Cybertron is a beautiful planet. The cities are magnificent and consequently become centers of different aspects of Cybertronian life. Iacon is the capital of politics. Kaon home of the gladiator pits. Praxus center of the arts. Tyger Pax land of musicians and entertainment. Any native can tell you all about their individual city, what makes it unique and special compared to other cities. There's a pride that's almost admirable.

Pride can only take you so far.

Look closer and you'll see Cybertron isn't quite as beautiful as it looks. The gladiator pits are full of death and cosmic rust from injuries left untreated. The streets are kept clean and immaculate, but the mechs and femmes who clean them always have intake problems because they don't get paid enough to visit the medics and have their intakes properly cleaned. Give them a few decades and they start to fade out. A century and their frames overheat, killing them instantly.

Once a mech is sparked into a caste, there they remain forever. For a mech whose existence can span thousands of years, this can be a terrifying thought. Organic beings can hardly stand the thought of doing the same thing for an entire week. It's more than just boredom, though – doing something you truly enjoy never gets boring.

What if you don't enjoy it? What if you aren't even talented at it? Or what if being in that caste screws you over so badly that, no matter how talented you are or enjoyable it is, you are condemned to a slow death because you can't afford medics or rent or food? That happens.

These are the people. These are their stories. They walk through their lives, trying to live one day at a time, knowing that somehow, something has to change.

How do you start a revolution? It's a question that can get you imprisoned on Cybertron, if not executed. Still, some kick it around, discussing the issue in dark bars or quiet street corners, places where the Enforcers can't arrest you – that is, if the Enforcers aren't standing right beside you, trying to figure it out themselves.

Revolution is not bloodless, but no one wants to shed blood. How do you affect change? How do you make it to where the politicians can no longer ignore you? Do you need numbers, picket signs, or guns? No one really knows. Until someone figures it out, no one is going to step up and try.

Cybertron is on the brink. It's a system about to crash, because it takes up more energy than it produces. It's an inefficient machine. It won't take much, everyone knows, to make that system tip. Already the politicians have split themselves into two groups – the Autobots and the Decepticons. It is rightly feared that any attempt at revolution will start a war between the two groups.

What if that war is what it takes to create the change? That's a question no one wants to answer. Saying yes will mean admitting that some mechs will have to die for the greater good, and that is simply too cruel. It's what the caste system says, and that's what they're trying to fight. Saying no means that everything will continue on until its inevitable destruction.

Neither option is appealing.

Unknown to most of Cybertron, the first inklings of a rebellion are already being seen. One mech uses an FM broadcasting station to stir up anyone who will listen. His ideas are blasphemous, dangerous, but no one can track an FM station. It's too low-tech – able to transmit to every comm link within the station's range, be recorded, and transmitted to the next station where the transmission can begin again, all without leaving a single ID mark to tell where it came from. In this way, his message is spreading across Cybertron.

He comes from Praxus.

In Tyger Pax, another mech hears his second-hand broadcast and smiles.

Their messiah is rising.

/-/

AN: The first few chapters will be short. I'm experimenting with a different writing style, and I think it'll work fine for the idea I have, but let me know if it's too hard to understand.


	2. The Good and The Evil

**The Good and The Evil**

These are the factions on Cybertron. Long ago all political fragments resolved themselves into two groups – the Autobots and the Decepticons. The Autobots present themselves as peaceful, a small political faction dedicated to maintain the status quo that eventually grew through continued support. They are lead by two Primes – Sentinel and Optimus. The former is old and experienced. The latter is young and idealistic. Eventually Optimus will replace Sentinel as Acting Prime, and the Autobots will fall under his sole rule.

The Autobots started off as a political faction, but a few centuries ago the need to become militarized became too much. So the Autobots began to train.

The Decepticons are different altogether. While the Autobots began in politics and eventually became soldiers, the Decepticons had begun as soldiers and became politicians. Some may find it strange that a group of people would give themselves a name with the word 'deception' in it, but the title has its roots in their history. The Decepticons started off as a small group of spies, working their way into positions of power and trust before taking down the enemies of Cybertron.

They earned the name well. They're proud of it. Their ancestors would be ashamed of how Megatron, their new leader, will abuse it.

Megatron is the polar opposite of Optimus Prime. He grew up in the gladiator pits, not as a comfortable data clerk. In a way, Megatron is the truest representative of what a rebellion should achieve. He has been screwed by the system, a gladiator by virtue of his sparking, and not his choice. He has fought for his life; he knows what it's like to stare death in the face every day, knowing this might be the time he doesn't come back.

Optimus knows none of this. He was comfortable as Orion Pax, the data clerk, before Sentinel named him his successor. He could have lived his entire life and never minded the way things were.

For this reason, the Autobots are losing the favor of the populace. The Decepticons are gaining political ground. The people cannot stand the compromises the Autobots are willing to make to keep the peace. They feel these measures only make true change impossible. The Decepticons, on the other hand, do not negotiate. They take and take, and never give an inch. Megatron makes a grand politician – unlike Optimus, who can't lie to save his life.

This is the setup, the stage upon which our play will unfold. These two factions, ever on the brink of war – the Decepticons demanding more power, the Autobots unwilling to give it and unwilling to take a proper stand – and a people who simply can no longer wait for someone in power to listen.

On this stage comes the main characters – the catalyst for change. In Tyger Pax, a young mech packs up his things and leaves his home. He doesn't bother to say good-bye to his creators; he knows they will only slow him down. He is the prophet, the one who will pave the way for the messiah of his people. He has known of his calling his entire life, waiting patiently for this one mech to rise from the masses. The prophet will find him, and he knows where to look.

Elsewhere, in Praxus, another young mech begins a similar journey. Unlike the prophet, he has no family to leave. All he has is his message, the need to set things right in his world, and the knowledge that he will not have to do this alone.

All messiahs have a prophet. It is the way of Cybertron spirituality. A messiah cannot be expected to perform his duties without someone to help him. So a prophet is sent to pave the way and be his support. This messiah will find his prophet.

And revolution will begin.

/-/

An: This is the last extremely short chapter. It should also be the last vague chapter. Also, I'm really sorry for the delay. This was supposed to be two chapters, and now it's one, and now it's really, really short. And it hated me.


	3. The Moment of Truth

**The Moment of Truth**

The Decepticons are mobilizing.

Optimus and Sentinel are aware of this. Their intelligence agents tell them nothing, only that Megatron has found something that makes him very, very happy. This alone is cause enough for concern. Anything that pleases the gladiator cannot possibly be good for the populace. There's just nothing they can do right now.

On the Decepticon base, as Megatron prepares to make a public announcement, a young mech is curled up in a small cell attempting to stay warm. He's so small, only in his third frame, but the unhealed damage and rusted cuts show he should have been upgraded years ago. He's a street rat, casteless and therefore lower than even the servants. Megatron stands in front of him, staring down at the little mech who refuses to look up at him.

"I want you on our side."

The request is simple, but the little mech simply refuses to speak. He will not look at Megatron, and while this infuriates the gladiator, he will not risk alienating this mech by torturing him. He has to be won over willingly, and right now, he is not willing. Megatron crouches down in front of him, trying to catch his optic.

"We want the same thing, you know. What frame are you supposed to have now – sixth, seventh? You were just a youngling when your creators passed, weren't you? Was there no one to care for you?" He pauses, but the little mech says nothing. Megatron scowls.

"Don't you want to make them pay?"

This triggers something in the little mech. He looks up, too-blue optics bright with the beginnings of overheating. This one is not long for the world. He looks at Megatron, long and hard, before finally smiling at him. For a moment, Megatron thinks he's won. He almost smiles back, but then the little mech speaks.

"They have done no wrong."

Megatron jerks like he's been slapped. "How can you say that? Look at you! Look at what they've done! You could have been upgraded years ago – you could have been _healthy_, been anything you wanted. Instead you're sitting here waiting for the end."

The little mech still has that strange smile. "Who has wronged me? It's not the mechs – I was sheltered and given energon all my life by kind strangers. I was beaten by Enforcers when I got caught stealing, only to have those same Enforcers come back and give me what I wanted to steal. It's not the mechs who have harmed me. It's the system, and you can't kill the system. It has no spark to extinguish."

The Decepticon leader tilts his head to the side. "What are you?"

"You already know."

Yes, Megatron already knows. He had been hoping he was right – that this little rebel from Praxus would be the key to his victory in the imminent war – but now he knows differently.

Messiahs do not take sides.

On the Autobot base, Optimus and Sentinel meet with a young visored mech from Tyger Pax. He's an odd one – neither impressed nor disgusted with the Autobot leaders, merely impassive. Sentinel already has a suspicion of who he is, but Optimus is oblivious. He leans forward in his seat.

"You know what the Decepticons are up to?"

The visored mech nods. "They've captured a young mech from Praxus – the rebel. Ya heard of him, right? He's been usin' the FM channels ta transmit his message."

Sentinel nods. "He's stirring up trouble."

"Megatron wants ta use him ta start his war. He wants ta break him into one of his mechs." The visored mech takes a shuddering breath. There is rage simmering just underneath his calm demeanor. "Ya gotta rescue him."

"Why?"

Sentinel felt as if this new mech could see into his spark.

"Cuz he's the hope fer us all."

Optimus speaks up. "We don't back rebellion. You should know that."

The mech snorts. "No. Ya simply give an' give until there's nothin' left. Ah wanna see Cybertron live, ya know, not just decay to dust. It's gonna, ya know, if somethin' doesn't change. Megatron will make sure things change. They won't change in yer favor, if ya don't get that rebel from him."

In the end, Sentinel agrees. Optimus protests, but it isn't his decision yet. In this case, he's too idealistic. He wants to stay neutral, but he can't. Sides must be chosen, when on the brink of revolution.

The fight is brief but bloody. The visored mech is there with them, leading them into the base and to the cells where the Praxian is being kept. He is the deadliest of them all, energon dagger severing lines and cracking spark casings like he was born to kill, and it frightens Optimus. Sentinel just watches him, a small frown on his face as his suspicions are confirmed.

Revolution really is coming.

Megatron takes worse losses than the Autobots, and in the end he gives up enough ground that they rescue the Praxian and a few others. One mech is nearly insane, clearly having been there for quite some time. They take them all home, back to the base and under the care of First Aid, Sentinel's medic. The Praxian refuses medical aid.

Optimus isn't sure it would do him any good anyway. It's surprising to see that the rebel that had everyone so frightened is just a street rat. It almost makes him laugh. Instead he simply allows the visored mech to guide the Praxian to his quarters.

If this was to be the spark of rebellion, it didn't stand a chance. Not with that rusted scrap guiding it.

The two mechs stand in the hallway just outside of the Praxian's quarters, which are right across the hall from the visored mech's. For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Then the visored mech speaks.

"Prowl."

The Praxian – Prowl – smiles. "Hello, Jazz."

Automatically, Jazz makes to kneel. Small hands on his shoulders stop him. He jerks in surprise, looking up to see Prowl shaking his head.

"No. I will have you be my equal, not my servant."

For another long moment, Jazz simply stares at Prowl. With a small smile, he straightens up. "Equals. Ah like that. Never thought much about how this would go after we met, ya know?" Prowl nods agreement. Jazz continues. "So – Ah guess we're gonna just take it as it comes?"

"I suppose." Prowl admits. "All I know is this – you are my friend, Jazz. I have dreamed of you too often for you to be anything else."

Jazz's responding smile is bright and full of hope. It makes Prowl smile all the more.


	4. The Soldier

**The Soldier**

Ironhide was a soldier long before there was ever a war.

He's a soldier by caste, born and bred to fight as required. He serves under Sentinel, but he likes Optimus. The younger, idealistic mech appeals to him. The young Prime has an innocence that Ironhide rarely sees, and he finds himself wanting to protect that innocence.

So when Jazz and Prowl join the ranks (if you want to call that joining, it's not like they've been sworn in or anything) Ironhide keeps a close optic on them. He saw what Jazz did when they stormed the Decepticon base. Jazz is from Tyger Pax – which means he's a musician or entertainer, which means there's no way he could have gotten that kind of training. He should have been absolutely useless on the battlefield, not an efficient killing machine. Jazz scares him, probably more than he scares Optimus. Ironhide doesn't trust natural-sparked killers.

Prowl is another mystery altogether. He seems cold and sparkless, but Ironhide can't help but feel sorry for the mech. He should be in his final frame by now, but he won't let First Aid touch him. Instead Jazz gets the supplies and takes care of Prowl to the best of his abilities. Ironhide can't blame either of them. First Aid is a pacifist, but there's no telling what he will do to stop a war. If he thinks it will help, he may give Prowl that final push that will shut down his systems permanently.

Personally, Ironhide thinks that's suicide. Jazz will kill anyone who tries to hurt Prowl.

It takes a week, but the Decepticons officially declare war. Cybertron holds its breath, waiting to see how the Autobots will respond. To Ironhide's shock, Sentinel turns to Prowl to see his reaction. The little mech looks back at him, optics bright.

"They won't win." he declares.

Sentinel nods and turns back to Megatron. Before he can speak, however, Prowl continues.

"Neither will you."

Sentinel turns to him again. "Then who will?"

Prowl smiles faintly. "Cybertron."

A day later, Sentinel announces his plan to take on the Decepticons. He tells the people that they will not have to live in fear of Decepticon tyranny, that the Autobots will stand up for all that is right and just. It's a pretty speech. Even Ironhide can tell he's lying. Sentinel doesn't know what Optimus will do, when it's time for him to rule alone. He may surrender to the Decepticons.

Later that day, Ironhide walks in on Prowl and Jazz talking in the rec room. They're the only ones there, both hunched over a game board and quietly discussing matters. Ironhide listens in.

"Megatron's taken a personal interest in Optimus." Jazz says. "He'll show it more as the war keeps goin'."

Prowl nods. "Optimus won't like that. He'll take the bait – make it personal. It's not just going to be a war; that's bad enough. This is going to be a slaughter."

Jazz glances up from the board. "Why didn't ya say somethin'?"

"What could I say? Megatron isn't doing this because he wants to. He's doing it to please his mate." Prowl shakes his head. "His mate wants this to be bloody. He wants to cause as much death as possible, and Megatron is more than willing to please him."

"Now that's just sick."

"I know."

"How do you know Megatron has a mate?" Ironhide demands. The two mechs look up from their game. The openness Prowl shows around Jazz is completely gone in favor of his blank mask. Jazz just looks irritated at being interrupted. Ironhide ignores both. "Prowl – how do you know Megatron has a mate?"

"We were friends in Praxus." Prowl says softly. "Our creators were killed in the same raid. He should have turned into a street rat like me, but instead Megatron took him in. Apparently he has a thing for fliers."

"Didn' know Vos builds lived in Praxus." Ironhide says, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Thought they stayed in Vox."

"City of fliers." Jazz murmurs. "Praxians and Vosians ain' that different. Not uncommon to find them in the same city."

Ironhide just shakes his head. "Man, who are you mechs? You shouldn't know this stuff – yer barely out of younglinghood."

Jazz just grins. "Ya'd be amazed at the things we know, Hide." He sounds both proud and resigned, a sentiment echoed by Prowl's look. Special, and proud of it, but still wishing to be normal. "We know what we need ta survive."

"So who tells you this stuff?"

Prowl doesn't even blink. "Primus."

With that one word, suddenly, a lot of things start to make sense. The strange friendship the two formed, the way Sentinel occasionally defers to Prowl's judgment, the odd things the two know and can do. Ironhide almost wishes he hadn't asked. Luckily, he doesn't have to react to that news. Prowl keeps going.

"There's only one way this war can end, Ironhide – with the destruction of both Autobots and Decepticons alike. That's the only way we'll get change."

"Why can't they just work together?" Ironhide demands.

Jazz just shrugs. "The Cons want domination. The Autobots want th' status quo. Who do ya want in power when ya need to make a change for the better?"

"This war is only the beginning." Prowl continues. "It's a way to start the change. When the war ends, there will be only Cybertron, and only the people. It isn't just a war – it's a cleansing."

Ironhide feels like his processor is reeling. It's too much information all at once. "Why are you tellin' me this?"

"Because you need to pick a side."

"Whose side? You mean, chose between you and Optimus?"

"Nah," Jazz says, "it's even more fundamental than that. Whose side are ya on – the Autobots', or Cybertron's?"

Ironhide thinks about that for a few weeks. Being a soldier means not questioning orders, and normally Ironhide doesn't, but Prowl and Jazz have him thinking. He starts watching Optimus' priorities – and the more he watches those decisions, the less he likes what he sees.

He's never paid much attention to mechs who claim the Autobots are decaying, no longer doing their duty to Cybertron. Now he knows they're right. If change is to come, and Ironhide has seen too much to believe change is not necessary even if he is happy with his lot, it won't be from the Autobots.

So he makes his decision.

Three weeks after their first conversation with the soldier, Jazz and Prowl sit down to their game only to find Ironhide already waiting for them in the rec room. They just stand there for a moment before Ironhide finally speaks.

"Got room for one more?"


	5. The Civilian

**The Civilian**

Megatron's first act of war is to destroy Praxus.

The Autobots received no warning. There was no declaration of intent or even a hint of what Megatron planned. One minute everything is normal on the Autobot base, the next word arrived that Praxus is burning, and everyone mobilized.

By the time they arrive, it's far too late. There's nothing left but smoking ruins.

Jazz suspects Megatron did this to get back at Prowl for rejecting him, but he can't say for certain. After all, Prowl may not be a Decepticon, but he's not an Autobot either. After so many weeks of speaking with Ironhide, neither is the soldier. He's Prowl's mech now.

As soon as they arrive at Praxus, Jazz and Prowl are gone, racing off into the debris to find survivors. Sentinel and Optimus watch them go. Optimus worries they're giving the two mechs too much freedom, but Sentinel just shakes his head and gets on with organizing the rescue efforts.

Far away from the Autobots, on the other side of the city, an Enforcer is crouched down in the ruins, protecting a youngling Praxian as best as he can. The Praxian is only in his fourth frame, so very young, and terrified of everything around him. As far as the Enforcer can tell, this is the only survivor.

So Ratchet sets to work. He may be an Enforcer by caste, but he's a medic by spark. He's self-trained and talented, and he's not going to let this little one die. So he tries to get the youngling to talk.

"What's your name, little one?"

The youngling just stares at him, trembling, doorwings held as high as he could get them. He's trying to be intimidating, to keep Ratchet as far away as possible, and he's too scared to recognize help when it's being given. He thinks he's defending himself, but unless he allows Ratchet to help, he's only going to die faster.

The sounds of someone running draws his attention away from the half-bit. He looks up and sees two mechs standing just in front of him. He jerks back. "Who are you?"

"Ah'm Jazz." the visored one says. "This here's Prowl. We're gonna help ya."

"I'm not the one who needs help." Ratchet says stiffly. "This one does, if he'll just let me."

Without a word, Prowl slides down in the depression and crouches in front of the youngling. The half-bit relaxes almost instantly at seeing someone from his own city. Prowl reaches out a hand. "It's okay, Bluestreak. You're safe now." he says softly. Slowly, Bluestreak approaches him. Prowl smiles reassuringly. "You have a brother, right? Smokescreen? I'll bet the others have found him by now – do you want to see?"

That works like magic. Bluestreak launches himself into Prowl's arms, shaking and trembling as he tries to bury himself in the smaller mech. Ratchet looks up at Jazz. "The others?"

"Th' Autobots."

Ratchet's optics darken. He takes in Prowl, who's whispering words of reassurance to the youngling, and Jazz, who's standing there, taking him in as well. "Since when do Primus's mechs take sides?"

Prowl looks up. "You know who we are?"

"I do."

"How?"

"I told him." Ironhide appears by his side. "See ya got yourself in a bit of trouble, Ratch."

"Don't call me that." Ratchet says automatically. "Help Prowl and Bluestreak up. I need to get them to a proper med bay. Was Prowl here when the city was destroyed?"

Ironhide's optics darken. "No. He should be in his seventh frame."

Ratchet startles, staring at Prowl for a long moment before he bursts out laughing. "A street rat prophet. Now that's rich."

"Ah'm the prophet." Jazz corrects. That just makes Ratchet laugh even harder. Ironhide shakes his head and helps Prowl and Bluestreak up.

"Don't mind him." he says. "Ratch has always been a little glitchy. He's an Enforcer, but he's also a gifted medic. That's how we met."

"Patched his sorry aft up quite a few times." Ratchet says, finally getting himself under control. "Well, lead the way."

/-/

Optimus visits Bluestreak in the med bay. He's the only survivor of the attack on Praxus, and he's so young. His spark breaks for the poor mech. Ratchet stands guard by Bluestreak's berth. First Aid greets Optimus at the door and explains how Bluestreak's recovery is going. Optimus just nods before continuing to the little mech.

"My name is Optimus Prime." he says quietly. "I am now Acting Prime of the Autobots. I am – so sorry for your loss." Bluestreak looks away. Optimus continues. "I want you to know we will do everything it takes to bring those responsible to justice." There's a long pause. "Is there anything I can do for you now?"

Bluestreak barely looks at him. "Prowl."

Optimus blinks. "You want Prowl?"

Ratchet shrugs. "They're both Praxian. He feels secure around him." He glances at the door. "Besides, Prowl and Jazz have been stalking the med bay waiting for updates about him." First Aid sniggers. He's started warming up to the new mechs, even if he doesn't exactly like them. Optimus sighs.

"Fine. Let them in." He glances at Bluestreak one last time and leaves. As soon as he's gone, Prowl and Jazz walk into the med bay. Bluestreak lights up. Prowl sits on the berth next to him, allowing the mech to lean against him. Jazz just watches from a few feet away with a smile on his face.

First Aid speaks up. "Optimus is going to want you to join the Autobots, Bluestreak." he says quietly. "He'll want you to swear in, pledge allegiance to him. Are you okay with that?"

Bluestreak's response is immediate. "No."

Ratchet smirks. "Not a fan?"

"He didn't save me. You guys did. Even when I was too scared to realize it." He sits up a bit and looks at Prowl. "I know who you are."

"I figured you would." Prowl says. "You're still very young."

Bluestreak nods. "I won't pledge anything to Optimus. My allegiance is with you. You and Jazz."

First Aid almost chokes. "That's treason, Bluestreak."

"It's the truth." Bluestreak never takes his optics from Prowl. "Will you accept?"

Prowl smiles. "Of course. But we're friends now, Bluestreak – you can drop the formality. Ask Jazz." Bluestreak looks over at Jazz, who nods encouragingly. A smile bursts across his face.

"In that case, call me Blue. Everyone does."


	6. The Martyr

**The Martyr**

Once, when Ratchet was in his second frame, he told his creators he wanted to be a medic. He still remembers the look on his sparker's face when he said that. He remembers being told that wasn't allowed.

_Not allowed_ became the mantra of Ratchet's life. He tried his hand at songwriting once. It took three cycles before he realized he was terrible at it, but that wasn't the point. It was something other than being an Enforcer like his sparker, and he did not want to be like his sparker. When he showed his creators his first (and only) song, the reaction was not what he was hoping.

_You are an Enforcer. Get used to the idea now._

This was repeated with every venture – medic, songwriter, singer (he was terrible at that, too), designer. Eventually he started studying medicine in his spare time, declaring it would come in handy if he was ever injured on the job.

His first case as an Enforcer proved what Ratchet suspected his entire existence – he was _born_ to be a medic.

He's been with the Autobots for six cycles now. That's not long, for a Cybertronian, but long enough for Ratchet to learn a few things about his new comrades.

He likes Optimus, but he's a terrible leader. He's peaceful negotiations and compromise when the situation calls for a strong stance and the willingness to fight. Their young Prime is naive, and one day it's going to get him killed. Ratchet has already accepted that Optimus will not be saved.

First Aid has talent, but no skill. Ratchet takes it upon himself to teach the young medic. Most of what he knows did not come from a teacher, but First Aid doesn't have to know that. First Aid is a caste medic, and he has a low opinion of anyone who tries to leave their caste. For now, he respects Ratchet's skills. Ratchet just doesn't know how well he'd take to being taught by an Enforcer.

Ironhide has been Ratchet's friend for a very long time. Ironhide was the one to convince him to study medicine as an aside to his Enforcer training. _"Just because you have to be an Enforcer doesn't mean you can't also be a medic."_ It was that one sentence that gave Ratchet the courage to not give up entirely. Now he finds himself following Ironhide's lead yet again.

Which brings him to the small, dissenting group that is slowly growing among the Autobot ranks. Prowl and Jazz, mechs of Primus, and yet Ratchet is one of the few who knows that. Ironhide suspects that Sentinel Prime knew, but he never passed that information along to Optimus. Perhaps he wanted Optimus to learn the truth for himself. Perhaps he just knew that, whatever Prowl's mission was, it would not be completed with Optimus interfering.

But as he watches Prowl and Jazz sharing a game in the rec room, he knows the mission will not be completed anyway. Prowl has an IV hooked directly into his energon lines. He's tired, more so than he should be. In a few days, he'll die. Ratchet has seen it happen time and time before. Always he's been helpless to stop it.

First Aid refused to help Prowl, but Aid doesn't know what Prowl is, even if the Praxian is a little odd. Ratchet has never heard of a messiah who made friends with his prophet, and that is exactly what Prowl and Jazz are. It's a friendship so deep that, if Ratchet didn't know better, he'd swear they were mates. Jazz keeps a sharp optic on Prowl's IV bag. There's a spare one in his subspace.

Optimus materializes behind him. "Things will be better, once he's gone."

That startles Ratchet. "I'm sorry?"

Optimus nods towards the pair. "Prowl. Things will calm down, once he's gone."

"You mean once he dies." That earns him a half-hearted shrug. Ratchet shakes his head. "That's cold, Prime."

"That's the truth. In a few days, Prowl will die. Jazz will leave. Everything will be peaceful again, and we'll make more headway with the Decepticons." There's a note of finality in his voice that rankles Ratchet. It makes his optics narrow in distaste.

No. He does not like Optimus Prime.

Prime watches as Ratchet walks over to Prowl and says something to him. Jazz brightens considerably, glancing from Ratchet to Prowl, waiting for the answer. Prowl nods. Jazz practically bounces as he helps Prowl to his feet and out of the rec room, Ratchet trailing behind them. The three completely ignore Optimus as they walk past him.

The Prime simply shakes his head. Odd bunch, the lot of them.

/-/

"I'm not sure this will work." Ratchet warns them again. "It's been put off for so long that the shock may kill you anyway. I have to ask again – are you sure?"

Prowl just looks at him, that odd little smile he gets when he knows something no one else does. "I trust you." he says softly. "You were born for this."

And Ratchet knows. He knows this, and yet hearing Prowl – _the messiah_ – say so, makes his spark flutter just a bit. This is not someone's blind faith in him. This is a mech who _knows_ telling him that this will work. Ratchet is only using a sixth frame. It will make Prowl smaller than most, but at the same time, a sixth frame is stable. Prowl will live, and the risk of shock is considerably less than a seventh.

After the procedure is finished, Ratchet visits Jazz who waited outside. Jazz looks up at him, visor dim. "He gonna be all right?"

"He should be." Ratchet says. He vents in frustration. "You're going to have to take care of him, Jazz. Everything is going to be on a different scale. He's going to need help until he gets used to his new body, but don't coddle him. He needs to learn."

Jazz just looks at him. "This will not be the worst thing Prowl ever faces."

It's said with such conviction and sorrow, Ratchet doesn't bother asking for details. He just does what he does best.

"Then make sure he doesn't face it alone. Not because you're the prophet, but because you're his friend."

/-/

Optimus almost blows a fuse when he realizes what Ratchet has done. He calls the medic to his office and immediately explodes. "Those supplies are for the mechs in my division, Ratchet." he snaps. "They're not there for you to use as you please!"

Something inside Ratchet snaps. Prowl is safe. He's adjusting well to his new frame – he's only a little shorter than Jazz now. Ratchet has pulled off the impossible. He's still riding that high. "Aren't they?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who are you to determine who lives and who dies?" Ratchet demands. "You are not Primus, and you are not His mech. If you were, you would have _ordered_ me to save him."

Optimus ignores that. "As your commander, I forbid you – "

Ratchet doesn't give him a chance to finish. He laughs. "You can't forbid me anything." _It is not allowed_. "I am the best medic you have – there's no way First Aid could have pulled off what I just did. You need me, Prime. And as your best medic, I will do what I slagging well please." With that he turns to walk away.

Prime's voice stops him. "That's treason, Ratchet."

The medic smiles. "Good thing I haven't sworn in, now isn't it?"

Never again will he sacrifice because someone else thinks it's right. Ratchet knows this for a fact. There will be many challenges ahead – this is a war, after all – but he will never have to sacrifice that part of himself again.

So he watches a healthy, stable Prowl playing his game with Jazz in the rec room, Ironhide and Bluestreak not too far away, all four of them chatting about nothing in particular today (Prowl looks too relaxed for any revelations), and he feels content for the first time in his life.

This is his calling. He will be a medic, and he will protect this small band of soldiers who answer to no one but Primus.


	7. The Victim

**The Victim**

Red Alert was rescued at the same time as Prowl.

This is his first memory – waking up in his cell with a young Praxian standing over him, a cool hand on his burning frame, and a soft voice telling him he would not die here.

His second memory is waking up in med bay, meeting First Aid and Optimus Prime. Optimus Prime tells him that it was his team that rescued him, his medic that fixed him, and as such, he should be indebted to the Autobots. Red Alert sees nothing wrong with that. He doesn't pledge his allegiance just yet – Sentinel says he needs time to heal, and as time proceeds, Red Alert sees the wisdom in that.

Something is glitched in his head. The bouts of paranoia come swiftly, suddenly, and violently. The first time it happens, he's still in the medbay. Luckily, he doesn't hurt anyone, but only just. The second time is different – he's in the rec room, getting energon, and suddenly everyone around him is a 'Con and he's trapped and surrounded and he _will not_ let them screw with his head again!

He's ready to fight and kill when Prowl approaches him again. He recognizes Prowl instantly. The mech standing behind him is unfamiliar, but doesn't fill him with the same burning fear that the others do.

"Ya think he's okay?"

"He will be." Prowl reaches forward. "Come, Red Alert. I'll protect you."

He takes Prowl's hand, and suddenly the madness is gone. He's just glad Prowl gets him out of there before the others can start asking questions.

This happens repeatedly. Every time, Prowl and Jazz are there to pull him out. Then Ratchet joins the team. Ratchet fixes Prowl – puts him in a new frame, saves him from the slow death a street rat is condemned to. This time, Red Alert goes to Ratchet.

Ratchet makes a patch program. It's not perfect, but it keeps the attacks from completely overwhelming him. It means he can keep his mind long enough to get somewhere safe, 99% of the time.

The longer he stays with the Autobots, the more he learns about them – and the little sub-faction growing inside them. He meets Ironhide, Ratchet, Bluestreak, Jazz, Prowl. All united under Prowl's rule, and the Praxian doesn't even know it. Or if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it. He treats his team like a true ruler should – like his friends.

They fight for the Autobots, but only because the Decepticons are worse. Prowl is a brilliant tactician, but he never makes plans for the Prime. After Sentinel stepped down, Prowl never pledged allegiance to Optimus, and neither has Jazz or Bluestreak or Ratchet. Red Alert isn't sure if he should or not. On the one hand, Optimus is not his leader. On the other, there's only so big this new faction can get before Optimus puts a stop to it.

He watches as Prowl leads his team into battle again and again. They are a team. Prowl is a tactician, Jazz a natural-born saboteur, Ratchet the medic, Bluestreak the sharpshooter, Ironhide a versatile soldier. Even Optimus can see the wisdom in keeping them together.

As for Red Alert, every attack he rides out, every time Prowl and Jazz pull him back from the brink, he knows again that he can never follow anyone else.

Still.

"Red Alert, you have been here for a very long time." Optimus tells him. "It's time."

Red Alert nods. Optimus stands before him in his office, Ironhide to one side, a different mech to the other. Ironhide looks torn, but Red Alert simply smiles at him. This is the right thing to do, the only thing to protect Prowl and his unit.

Ironhide sends him a private comm. _"You don't even know what he is."_

"_I can guess."_ Red Alert replies calmly. _"Even without certainty, I will protect them. There needs to be a few who present the front of being loyal to Prime. We can be those few."_

Ironhide nods. _"Prowl is gonna have my aft if you get hurt."_

Not Optimus. As idealistic as Optimus is, Red Alert isn't too sure where he stands with the mech. That is another reason he does this. He drops to one knee, as is tradition.

Optimus places a hand on his shoulder. "Do you, Red Alert, swear your allegiance to the Autobot cause, and to your leader Prime?"

It feels like a betrayal, even though Prowl has never expressed a preference either way. The words hurt being spoken, and he can only pray the others will forgive him for this. It's the logical thing to do, and it feels correct, even if it doesn't feel _right_.

"I swear."

Later, he joins the others in the rec room. These after-hours meetings have become a staple for the group. They don't have to pretend like they do during the entire day. They can relate to each other the way they want to. Red Alert smiles at the sight. Prowl and Jazz are always inseparable (and Red Alert would swear the two are bonded sometimes) but Bluestreak has taken a shine to Ironhide. It amuses the others to no end.

Bluestreak catches sight of the Autobot sigil on his chest. "You pledged?" he whispers. "Why would you do that?"

"To protect us." Ironhide says sharply. "If we keep getting bigger like this, Optimus is gonna put a stop to it soon." Bluestreak frowns, but nods anyway.

Red Alert keeps his focus on Prowl. "Forgive me."

Prowl and Jazz exchange looks and a smile. When Prowl turns that smile to him, he knows what will be said.

"There is nothing to forgive. You do what is right."

Not what he thinks is right, but what is right. Red Alert straightens. "I always will."

It's a vow stronger than the one he just made to Prime, and one he will never break.


End file.
